And That’s Why You Can Stay So Long
by wildblues
Summary: CORNER GAS. Dog River, a place where there's not a lot goin' on. A collection of drabbles: 9
1. When I Build Something, It Stays Built

**Title:** When I Build Something, It Stays Built  
**Fandom:** Corner Gas  
**Genre:** General  
**Rating:** G  
**Warnings:** None  
**Pairings:** None

Comments: _I really wanted to write something about Hank and Brent, and what better than a good ol' fic from when they were kids, right? So cute! So I just picked something at random and it turned out to be the building of the treehouse. Hurrah_.

* * *

The sun beat down upon the barley fields, its rays scorching the earth from its perch high in the open Saskatchewan heavens, not a cloud in the sky. In the middle of one such field by the road, something that vaguely resembled either a tree or a bush stood, crooked and bare save for a few leaves here and there. 

"Hank, pass me that hammer would ya?" a pudgy young boy sat amongst its knobbly branches, holding a plank of wood across them and reaching to his friend who stood looking up at him from the grass.

Hank held up two hammers, one with a wooden handle, and the other with a rubber grip, "Which one?"

"It doesn't matter, just give me one!"

"But Brent, they're _different!_ The rubber one's got—"

"Just give me a tool, ya tool!"

Hank scowled and handed the rubber gripped hammer to Brent, whom then started to hammer away at the wood furiously, often missing the nails and pounding upon the plank by mistake. Hank looked down at his shoes and shuffled his feet in the long grass.

"Hey, my shoe's got a hole in it," the boy said, sitting on the ground to inspect the damage.

"Wha?" Brent ceased hammering.

"I said my shoe's got a hole!"

Brent said nothing, shooting Hank an exasperated look before returning to the wood plank.

"Hey Brent, why can't I help?" Hank asked, grabbing the second hammer and making his way to the trunk of the tree-bush and beginning to climb up it.

"Because! I'd like this tree house to last more than five minutes!"

Hank made a choking sound, "What? I'm awesome at fixing stuff! Watch!" he said, and with intense determination, he hammered at the nails violently, but accurately. Brent tried to stop him, saying he was going to ruin everything, grabbing at his arm but Hank brushed him away, hammering more carefully so he wouldn't accidentally hit his other hand, or Brent's.

"Fine, you do it! I'm gonna get a snack," Brent huffed, trying to climb out of the tree carefully. Despite his efforts, his pant leg caught on one of the branches of the tree-bush, and he fell gracelessly to the dry grasses below with a thud.

Hank stopped hammering and bit back a laugh, "H-hey! You ok?"

"I ripped my T-shirt!" Brent growled, grasping at the sleeve of his oversized Kung-Fu Johnny T-shirt, scowling, "Thank a lot, Hank!"

"Wha? How's it my fault?"

Brent stormed off, grumbling to himself as he marched towards his family's house, while a bewildered Hank sat alone in the tree-bush.

The next day, Brent came back to the tree house to find the floor fully constructed, with a rope ladder hanging from the floor to the ground. He climbed up it, the rope sturdy and strong, and sat on the floor. There he found a note scribbled on a piece of paper and tacked to the wood, he picked it up and read:

_Dear Brent._

_Sorry you fell. I got a rope ladder so we dont' have to clime the tree._

_- Hank_

_PS It wasnt' my fault._

Brent smiled. Later that day, Hank came by and when the sun finally disappeared behind the flat horizon, there were two more walls standing. Three sunsets after that, the tree house was standing proudly by the roadside.

It never fell.

* * *

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_


	2. Love Is Like A Pie

**Title:** Like A Pie  
**Fandom:** Corner Gas  
**Genre:** General/Romance  
**Rating:** G  
**Warnings:** None  
**Pairings:** Brent/Lacey, Vaguely implied Davis/Karen

Comments: _Haha this one's __really weird__, but bear with me. I don't even know if I wrote it properly, but eh. Lacey muses on relationships in Dog River, and Brent. Because damn it, Brent/Lacey is cute too._

* * *

It had been a good few years since the 'Grey Cup Incident' as she had come to call it, and Brent had blown her off (which she refused to believe; _she_ had blown _him_ off, actually) but she still sometimes found herself thinking, when Brent sat down at one of the stools and asked for his daily Chili Cheese Dog: _what if_? 

She meddled in the others' lives a fair bit (another thing she refused to believe, she wasn't a meddler, she was just trying to help) because she wanted them to be happy. If she couldn't get _her_ love life off the ground again, why couldn't they? Often she found herself between Oscar and Emma, there was also the time she tried to keep Hank and Heather together (ultimately ending in failure in a bit of flawed Hank-Logic), as well as the situation with Davis and Karen (she had apparently missed the mark on the latter pair, but still _she wondered…)_ and each time she came closer to realizing that in Dog River things were different. Love isn't forced, matchmaking was a useless art; in Dog River, it just happened, not in the conventional way.

Dog River love was like… like a pie, she thought – crusty, for one, and on the outside you cannot tell what it really is – flavour, colour and ingredients are hidden from view beneath the crust's surface. But on the inside, it was warm, filled with flavour and you can never really experience or understand it until you crack the crust on the outside. In Dog River, relationships were a mystery, even to those involved, and everyone had just come to accept that.

She and Brent just hadn't cracked that crust, she decided. Perhaps their pie was still in the oven, even. She would just have to wait, and perhaps one day she would get a taste of that mysterious pie.

* * *

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	3. Three Accidental Words

**Title:** Three Accidental Words  
**Fandom:** Corner Gas  
**Genre:** General/Romance  
**Rating:** G  
**Warnings:** None  
**Pairings:** Davis/Karen

Comments: _I don't know where the heck this came from, but I thought it'd be cute.. I don't know, I could see him accidentally saying something and then having no idea that he said it. Davis isn't one to think before saying things, I've noticed. Then again, neither is Karen. Or anyone in Dog River for that matter._

* * *

The early morning stillness canvassed Main Street, dew still clinging desperately to the grass and birds singing sleepily to the morning sun. Karen skipped up the front steps to the police station, and opened the door awkwardly, as she had a travel mug full of Lacey's coffee in each hand, a tupperware container tucked neatly under her arm. She went inside and made her way down the hallway, opening the door to the office just as awkwardly, and smiled as Davis turned around in his chair to face her. 

"Morning!" she said cheerily, "and Happy Birthday! See, I told you I wouldn't forget this time!" she said, shutting the door with her foot.

"Probably because I _reminded you_ every day this week," Davis smirked, leaning back in his chair.

"Eh, it might've helped a bit," she said, matching his smirk with one of her own. She plunked one of the travel mugs marked 'Corner G and The Rub' (an advertising mistake on Lacey's part) onto his desk and set the other on her own, "close your eyes!" she ordered. He gave her a wary look.

"Do it!" she urged, and he complied. She pulled the tupperware contained out and opened it. Inside were several muffins, covered in chocolate frosting and sprinkled with smarties. She placed it on the desk, "don't open them yet!" She retreated behind her desk and opened a drawer, pulling out a brown paper bag with the words 'Happy Birthday' scrawled across the top and placed it next to the container.

"Okay, you can look now," she said. He did so and looked down at the muffins, a wide smile spreading across his features.

"I figured I'd make some of those non-zucchini chocolate chip muffins again; I know how much you liked 'em," she said, and nudged the paper bag towards him, "there's this too."

He took the bag, "Aw Karen, you didn't need to. Don't get me wrong though, this is awesome," he said, offering her his signature Davis Smile (TM) before reaching into the bag and pulling out a Hardy Boys book.

"I knew you were missing that one, and I saw it last time I was in the city, so I picked it up," Karen said brightly, "Hope it's the right one"

"Al_right!_" Davis said, turning the book over and glancing at the back, "_Karen, I love you!_"

She froze, a shock running down her spine, she stood there staring down at him from where he was sitting in the office chair, flipping through the book. She was silent a moment, before finally saying, "…What?"

He looked up, a confused expression on his face, "What do you mean, 'what?'"

"What did you just _say?_"

"Why? What _did_ I say?"

"You said- Uh, nevermind," she smiled awkwardly, "I- I must've heard something else."

He raised an eyebrow, "Are you _okay_?"

"Haha, yeah! Forget I said anything. You like the book? Hmm?" She asked, trying desperately to change the subject before he realized what was going on. He continued to stare at her like she had gone insane and she huffed, "Stop looking at me like that!"

Ignoring her comment, he looked back down at the book, "Yeah, this is great! And so are the muffins - I've been _craving_ them lately," he grinned, "Thanks, partner!"

He grabbed two of the chocolate-slathered muffins and handed one to her. They lifted them to the air as if in a toast, and then bit into their 'healthy snacks', smiling contentedly.

For the rest of the day, she asked him trivial questions in hopes that he would forget himself and slip up a second time. But he never did. She assumed what he had said earlier wasn't true, and was, to her surprise, quite disappointed.

It was years later when that day again came to her mind; when he said those words again.

* * *

_  
_


	4. Stupid Earrings

**Title:** Stupid Earrings  
**Fandom:** Corner Gas  
**Genre:** General  
**Rating:** G  
**Warnings:** None  
**Pairings:** Davis/Karen

**Comments:** I don't know if I'll ever stop writing this pair, holy crap. _The writers are giving me too much to work with_ (don't stop, you guys!) Man, _Census Sensibility_ is one of my favourite episodes, for totally obvious reasons.

* * *

"Damn, I knew I shouldn't have turned it into a bet," Davis grumbled as the pair strolled down the city street. He had just lost miserably in a bet with his partner, and he knew very well that she would never allow him to back down. So he was trapped, and was reluctantly following her down a busy Regina street to a relatively expensive-looking jewellery store.

He knew he should've at least set a price range! Damn the luck, she wouldn't hear it now. Karen was practically skipping along the sidewalk beside him, chattering about something – he wasn't listening, really.

"You know, why don't we go back to the hotel? I mean, we're leaving tomorrow morning and I want to check out all the satellite channels they've got. Way better than the ten channels we get back home, and besides-"

"Oh no you don't," Karen said, her voice taking on that dangerous tone that she usually reserved for lawbreakers; or Davis when he was getting on her nerves. She gave him a narrow-eyed glare, "You promised! You're keeping your end of the bargain!"

"But didn't I tell you before that earrings-"

"Pfft, that's not true! I can take anyone down, earrings or not," she rolled her eyes, "besides, four years and there's been maybe… two physical scuffles – I'll take my chances," she stopped walking and looked up at one of the stores, "This one will do, come on."

"Well, don't you come crying to me when there's a riot. 50/50 chance, remember?" Davis warned, opening the door to the shop for her as she made her way inside, he then followed suit.

Her eyes lit up and she smiled the moment she laid eyes on the several display cases throughout the shop, and he almost didn't regret making that bet after all. _Almost_. A glance at the price tag on a pair of earrings made him frown; he certainly pitied his wallet today, it was sure to take a fatal blow before they left the shop.

"Don't go crazy, now," he warned, shooting Karen a pleading look in hopes of changing her mind. He knew, however, that she would not be so easily swayed, but still she responded, albeit not in the way he had hoped.

"Eh, we'll see," she shrugged, smirking at him devilishly and grabbing his sleeve to drag him over to the displays. She leaned over the glass, examining the choices before her carefully. Davis noticed a sales rep zero in on their position and as the man swooped in for the kill, Davis stiffened and touched Karen's wrist lightly to get her attention. Her gaze snapped up to fix upon him, and he nodded in the direction of the approaching sales rep.

"Hello there, can I help you?" the man said, his voice high and nasal as he peered at them from behind silver-rimmed glasses perched on the end of his pointed nose.

"Yeah, I guess," Davis said, sizing up the skinny man. He looked kind of like a vulture, he decided, but more bald.

"So, when is The Big Day?" the man said, but instantly regretted it when he observed the expressions upon his customers' faces.

"… The what now?" Karen asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Oh, you're not-"

"Oh! You mean-" she said, finally realizing what he had meant. The realization had dawned upon her partner at the same moment, for he had began babbling in much the same way.

"Oh, haha, no, we're just-" he started, but the sales rep had butted in before he could finish his sentence.

"My mistake, I'm sorry. It's just that you two-" again the pair gave him a look that made him feel very nervous, "Ah, never mind, forget I said anything. What, then, is the special occasion?"

"He lost a bet," Karen said, grinning triumphantly up at Davis, who in return sneered at her half-heartedly.

"… Oh," the sales rep was again flabbergasted, "Do you need any help in your… decision?"

"No, I've got it under control," Karen said, turning to look at the displays again. Davis looked down at the sparkling sets of earrings from over her shoulder and frowned; couldn't she have picked a more inexpensive shop?

"I kind of like those ones," she said, pointing to a pair of gold hoops with emeralds dotting their surface, shimmering green in the afternoon light that spilled in from the shop window.

Davis shook his head, "I think silver's better on you. Maybe white gold or something."

"You think so? Hmm," she scanned the choices, "How about those, then?"

"Would you hurt me if I asked for a _little bit_ cheaper?" he asked quietly so that the sales rep would not overhear. She looked back at him and rolled her eyes.

"Ugh, fine. How about those? They're really nice, right?" she indicated a pair of silver earrings with small hoops, "They can't get in the way in a struggle, right?"

Davis noticed the sales rep's gaze snap upward from where he had been observing the other customers at that comment, a completely bewildered expression on his face as he looked the pair up and down nervously.

Davis glanced at the price tag next to her choice and frowned, "There goes my new DVD player," he mumbled, "You've got to stop turning everything into a bet."

"You made the bet, not me," Karen said, "You're still _really bad_ at gambling," she waved the sales rep over again so that he could get the earrings from the display case and they could pay.

"Maybe I had a bad teacher," he retorted, digging into his pocket to get his wallet out.

"At least I _won_. I wouldn't call that too bad," she pointed out the earrings to the sales rep, "Those ones, please."

Davis didn't reply, but made a sort of dismissive sound in the back of his throat as he swiped his credit card. Moments later, the sales rep handed him the small box, shooting he and Karen a wary glance as they were leaving the store.

Once outside, Karen made a grab for the box, but Davis swiftly hid it in his jacket pocket. She frowned, grasping and shaking his arm for emphasis as she spoke, "What are you doing?"

"Oh, you're not getting this until Monday," Davis said, "The agreement was that I buy you earrings and _you get to wear them to work_. We're not working right now, right?"

"Are we _ever_? Okay fine, Monday then," she pouted, and he chuckled lightly, "Wanna go see what movies they've got on those satellite channels at the hotel?"

"Don't ever feel you need to ask something like that," Davis said, smiling as they made their way back up the street.


	5. KO

**Title:** KO  
**Fandom:** Corner Gas  
**Genre:** General/Romance  
**Rating:** G  
**Warnings:** None  
**Pairings:** Davis/Karen

**Comments:** _I don't know why I wrote this. It was intended to be a lot shorter than this, but it just kept going, eh. This is based on this one time I got knocked out, it's not a fun experience at all. The first two things Karen says are what I said when I finally came to, and then everyone laughed despite how much freaking pain I was in. I understand, though; it must've been pretty damned funny! I would've laughed if I were them, haha._

_Anyway, here's fic._

* * *

First she regained her hearing; the sound of tires rolling across the pavement a short distance away, the hushed, worried voices of the children on the school bus, Oscar's voice once again cutting through the air in sharp, barking tones as he yelled at them inside the large vehicle. All the sounds seemed so far away, as if she were listening to them through a long tunnel. The seconds felt like minutes, she wondered where she was, the suffocating blackness closing in on her as she lay on the hard ground, she heard faintly a voice, "Karen, are you okay?" 

"Hang on a sec," she said to the voice, not knowing or caring who it had been. Sudden pain shot through her skull and she clutched at her head, hissing through clenched teeth, "Oh yeah, _that_ hurts."

Finally, the blackness faded away and she was able to see blurry shapes moving above her, tinny sounds becoming clearer, but she closed her eyes when an uncomfortable wave of pain washed over her. She felt arms around her gently easing her into an upright position, her head coming to rest against somebody's shoulder, a hand brushing her hair away from her face. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut as the hand brushed a sore spot on her forehead.

"Did that hurt? I'm sorry," said the voice again, this time clearer than before. Karen opened her eyes again to see that the blurriness had passed, she tilted her face upward to see that it was Davis whom had been speaking to her. He was now kneeling beside her in the aisle of the bus, holding her in a sitting position as twenty pairs of young eyes stared down at her in shock. Oscar rushed past the pair from their spot in the middle of the aisle, screeching at the kids about how they had no respect. He paid the taxes that paid the police, he shouted, those rotten kids were _wasting his money_, knocking out one of the officers! Karen groaned, lifting a hand to her forehead and touching it gingerly, headache increasing with every word that came from Oscar's mouth.

"What did they _hit me with?_ The _bus?_" she said faintly to Davis, and he smiled and laughed (if she weren't in such an awkward position at the time, she would've punched his arm for laughing at a time like this).

"To Kill a Mockingbird," he said, holding up a hardcover book and she grimaced; she had been knocked senseless by a book? Shameful. She sighed in frustration and let her head fall back to rest against his shoulder again, ignoring the pounding in her head and the way his badge was pressing against her cheek.

"Can you walk?" he asked her, and she shrugged.

"I guess so."

She wrapped her arms around his neck to steady herself as he lifted her to her feet, his arms around her waist. Even after she was standing, she didn't let go of him for a few moments. She leaned against him, arms still around his neck. She told herself it was because she was afraid she would fall if she let go. She dropped her arms back to her sides again once she realized that he was staring at her quizzically, and she stepped away from him slightly. Standing freely, she swayed a bit and shook her head, an action she instantly regretted when she felt the pain as if her brain has rattled in her skull, and she winced and sat down on one of the empty seats at the front of the bus. The voices of the kids in the back of the bus were hushed and frantic as they whispered to one another, and she heard Oscar behind her snarling at them, and she was sure he was making wild hand gestures while he did it, too.

"Ugh, I've got to get out of here," she groaned, shooting a pleading glance at her partner.

"Oscar?" he inquired. She nodded more carefully this time, "Come on," Davis said, taking her hand in his own and pulling her up gently from her seat, holding her other arm to steady her as he walked her towards the doors of the school bus. Slowly he led her down the stairs, keeping a firm grip on her hand in case she slipped and she breathed a sigh of relief once she managed to touch the ground without falling.

"Thanks," she said simply. She did not want to say any more, suddenly embarrassed by her situation; she had just been knocked for a loop by a child's book (however, she thought, it _was_ a hardcover!), which was especially embarrassing given the hard time she had given her partner earlier for something similar. He was probably biting back his laughter right now, enjoying and savouring every moment of her current predicament, and would not let her hear the end of it for the remainder of the week. She sighed, better get the teasing over with, then.

"Did the kids settle down?" she asked, letting him lead her around the front of the bus as they made their way over to the patrol car parked nearby.

"Oh yeah," he said, "Once they realized they knocked out a police officer, they all started crying and praying. Good kids…"

She nodded as they rounded another corner and began to walk alongside the bus. She leaned into him slightly as she spoke, "You must be _loving this_…"

He shook his head, "I take no satisfaction. I just want you to understand anyone can get knocked out," he squeezed her hand tighter for a moment, she only barely registered that he had. He wasn't going to make fun of her after all? Apparently, she decided, his concern for her had managed to overpower his desire for revenge, which is something that didn't really happen every day. She smiled.

When she looked up she realized that the stop sign was beginning come away from the side of the bus, and was going to cry out and stop but it was too late. She felt the sheet of metal collide with her cheek, and an audible clang to her left told her that Davis had also fallen victim to the cruel stop sign. She fell to the ground, hearing a thump beside her as her shoulder made contact with the pavement, and she heard someone nearby saying something.

--

A minute or so passed before she again regained her senses, and her cheek was throbbing, in addition to her forehead. _What a day_. She sat up slowly, carefully, and looked around to see Davis on the ground beside her, they were lying in the road beside the school bus, and it took her a moment to remember why they had been there in the first place.

She heard him stir beside her and she turned her head a little too quickly which sent a shock of pain shooting up the side of her neck. She shook his shoulder gently, and he opened his eyes and raised a hand to his forehead.

"You okay?" she asked, leaning over him to examine the bruise that was forming on his head.

"This week hasn't been so good," he said, sitting up as well.

"Nah. Getting knocked out twice in ten minutes, that's got to be some kind of record," she said, smiling slightly through the tears that were involuntarily forming in the corners of her eyes.

They looked up as Oscar poked his head out the window, "Oops, haha, the sign came out, did it?" He looked down at them where they were sitting on the pavement and laughed, "Sorry!" he said, but they knew very well he hadn't meant it.

"I swear, if he calls us again within the next two days, he's getting a billy-club to the head," Karen said, picking herself up off the pavement and brushing off her pants. She watched Davis get up too (and would've offered to help him, but she knew it would only end in him pulling her down to the ground again, most likely).

"Oh yeah, I'll help you with that, too," he said, straightening his jacket. She moved towards him and slung an arm across his back, while he held her shoulder, they supported one another.

As they hobbled towards where the patrol car was parked, they were very careful to stay at least a metre away from the side of the bus.


	6. You Can Never Go Home Again

**Title:** You Can Never Go Home Again  
**Fandom:** Corner Gas  
**Genre:** General/Romance  
**Rating:** G  
**Warnings:** None  
**Pairings:** Brent/Lacey

**Comments:** _Aww, Lacey and Brent are so sweet sometimes. Anyway,this is boring fic in which Lacey muses yet again on how much she totally hearts Dog River and all her friends, even though they irritate the living heck out of her on a daily basis. _

_She's still cool with it, though._

_(Warning: I abused semicolons a lot in one paragraph here, but eh.) _

* * *

Lacey hummed to herself as she plucked ornaments from the branches of the Christmas tree, placing them one by one into a small cardboard box lined with tissue paper. Brent sat nearby on one of the stools at the counter, sipping at his third cup of coffee since he had entered The Ruby; despite the fact that it was ten o'clock in the evening. He watched her silently, taking time every now and then to make a comment on the appearance of one of the ornaments, or the weather, or how his mother was allegedly ruining Christmas; she replied to his remarks with '_hmms_' and '_yeahs_' but she wasn't really listening. 

"Hey Lacey," Brent began, placing his third empty coffee mug on the counter, "Do you think, I mean, for some reason… uh. Would you ever go back to Toronto?"

She stopped humming 'O Christmas Tree' and turned around, a small angel ornament in hand, "What do you mean? Permanently?"

"Yeah," Brent said simply, turning to pick up his coffee mug again even though it was empty; he just didn't want to look her in the eye at that particular moment.

She placed the angel inside the box with the rest of the ornaments and moved to sit on the stool beside Brent, "I don't know," she said, looking at the grey and burgundy chequered pattern on the floor, "I mean, if something came up and I had to leave…"

"Would you?"

She looked at him a moment, only to realize that he was staring down into the coffee mug. She bit her lip, trying to think of a proper answer. Would she leave? The idea of going back to Toronto seemed appealing at times; the times when she felt like nobody was on her side, the times when she regretted moving to the small rural community at all. Then there were the moments when she felt accepted by the people around her. Although they didn't show it often, she knew that the others at least liked her. The people of Dog River just have a… different way of showing their affection, she had noticed.

Then there were moments like this, different altogether from the rest, and very rare indeed. They were the moments when she felt that she had a friend in the world; a friend who was dependant, but enjoyed all the simple joys in life; a friend who was a bit of an idiot, but a lovable one; a friend who was a genius but still lacked common sense; a friend who was cranky and bitter but still knew how to have fun occasionally; a friend who was weary of their antics, but still loved her family; a friend who was a total geek in every sense, but was always sweet; or a friend who was ready for anything, but could still crash and burn in conversation. It was these moments that she stayed for.

Lacey knew about the politics and intricate workings of a Movie (previously book) Club, and she knew how to overcome her globophobia. She knew how to compete in curling and horseshoes, but still did not know how to play bridge. She knew how to defend herself with 'kung-fu', she knew how not to organize bulletin boards, and she knew how to beat anyone at Ker-Plunk. Were she in Toronto, she would have never learned those things. She would never have met the seven people who changed her life, (though they would never know that they had done so). Dog River itself had been an experience like no other, and she had only been living there for a few years. A few years more and she would be acting like a completely different person than she was in Toronto, perhaps her old friends from the city wouldn't enjoy her company anymore…

She was surprised when she came to the realization that she didn't have a problem with that.

Brent was still staring intently at the bottom of his coffee mug, appearing distracted but secretly waiting for Lacey's answer. She smiled, taking hold of his arm and squeezing it gently as she spoke.

"I can't leave you guys now, who would serve you all your coffee?" she said, smiling, "Especially you, you're keeping me in business."

Brent smiled bashfully at the newly buffered linoleum floor, "Hah, yeah…" He looked again into his coffee cup.

"You know, it's not going to refill no matter how hard you stare at it," Lacey said, a crooked smile playing on her lips, she stood and walked around the other side of the counter, grabbing the coffee pot from its place on the back counter, "Want me to fill it?"

"You're the best," Brent said, and thrust the coffee mug forward with surprising enthusiasm. Once refilled, he began to sip at it again silently.

Lacey again busied herself with the dismantling of Christmas decorations, pulling some garlands and Christmas balls down from over the windows, "Brent, can you pass me that box over there?"

"Yeah, sure," he said, putting his coffee back onto the counter and snatching the box eagerly, bringing it to her where she was kneeling on one of the booth benches. Lacey then placed the ornaments in the box.

She smiled, "Maybe Thomas Wolfe was right. You can never go home again…"

A pause, "Who's he? Some guy at the airport?"

She shot him an amused look, and then something glistening white in the corner of her vision caught her attention. As if on cue, the pair glanced up to the ceiling where a branch of mistletoe was dangling, looking merrily festive and yet strangely foreboding at the same time.

"Mistletoe…" was all she said, hoping only to break the silence.

"Hey, is that fake or real? If it's real it's probably my mom's…" Brent said, hoping to do the same thing.

Her gaze locked with his and she weighed her options.

On the one hand, she didn't want to betray the tradition of mistletoe – she always believed it bad luck to do so. Her thoughts then strayed to the '_what ifs_' as they often did; what if she _did_ kiss him, what could it do to their relationship? She was hesitant ever since the incident during the Grey Cup and the ensuing chaos regarding Brent's apparent unattainability. It was then that she decided (with his help) that they were to remain friends. To bow to the unwritten law of the mistletoe would jeopardize all she had worked to maintain between them, and open up old wounds that had finally been able to heal…

With this in mind, she took a moment of careful consideration.

"… I'd better take it down."


	7. Lavender

**Title:** Lavender  
**Fandom:** Corner Gas  
**Genre:** General/Romance (?)  
**Rating:** G  
**Warnings:** None  
**Pairings:** Davis/Karen?

**Comments:** _I know this is turning into a Davis/Karen fest, haha. Either way, I figured that any of my fics involving them had too much Karen (not that it's bad) but definitely needed more Davis. This entire stupid thing is based on… uhm, 'Physical Credit', I think? In which Davis says he does Karen's laundry at his place, basically. Because I'm a loser, I ran with it._

_Basically; Davis does laundry and thinks about stuff. Riveting, I know._

* * *

Davis used a separate detergent altogether whenever he did _her_ laundry; something feminine that smelled nice and flowery, rather than his own detergent (which was usually whatever was on sale or cheapest at the time, he wasn't picky about things like that).

It was lavender. Karen had commented on how she liked the scent when he had used it once, so he used it every time; even though she never commented on it again afterwards.

She had asked him to do her laundry at his house, as she often did because she didn't have a washing machine, nor did she feel a pressing need to purchase one. Davis agreed as _he_ often did because he quite enjoyed doing laundry, it was somewhat therapeutic in a way (he wasn't sure how or why, it just _was_ and he accepted it). She would drop off a basket of her clothing now and then at his house (she always left it in the garage if he wasn't home, getting in with the key that he kept hidden under the third stone from the left in the garden) with a note that said '_thanks_' and a five dollar bill on top. He had never once asked her to pay but she always did.

That day she had left him several of her uniform shirts and her jacket, as well as some sweaters and a pair of jeans. And he had put them in spin cycle with the scent of lavender detergent, then transferred them to the dryer, flipping the worn and dog-eared pages of a Hardy Boys novel that he had read twice already in between. After that, he pulled the clothing items out of the dryer one by one, still warm from the heat, and folded them neatly.

Her police uniform shirts were only one size smaller than his, yet they seemed absolutely huge on _her_, he noticed. He loved that, though; the way her sleeves came down past her knuckles, and the way she would always have to pull them up before doing anything with her hands. They would always fall back down moments later, and she wouldn't notice until she had to do something with her hands again. He chuckled just seeing the image in his head, he knew it so well; she would always sigh in frustration and purse her lips in annoyance, and pull the sleeves back up again before continuing what she was doing.

He finished folding the shirts and placed them carefully into the laundry basket on top of her other clothing items, breathing in the scent of the lavender detergent and sighing contentedly; he did so enjoy doing laundry. But he didn't tell anyone other than Karen, they'd all laugh at him, most likely; they always did whenever one of his strange quirks came to light. She never laughed at him, though, even though he knew very well what she was thinking. He knew that she thought he was strange fairly often – she would always give him what he had come to call _'the look'_, eyebrows knit together and eyes narrowed; but she didn't laugh, and he thought that was a good thing.

She would just wordlessly tell him he was weird, and he didn't mind that.

He took the basket and put it back in the corner of his garage where she had left it earlier that morning, a note on top that said '_All done, Sincerely, Davis_,' which was what he always wrote. He made sure that the key was still under the third stone and got into his truck, ready to head out to the Hotel Bar for his evening off. He knew she would be there, as she always was on Friday nights, and he would tell her to drop by later to pick up the laundry, as he always did.

It was a simple routine and they followed it more closely than any of the rules in the police guidebook; it was more important to them.


	8. World Record

**Title:** World Record  
**Fandom:** Corner Gas  
**Genre:** General/Romance (or Friendship? It's up to you.)  
**Rating:** G  
**Warnings:** None  
**Pairings:** Davis/Karen

**Comments:** _Apparently, I am _**still at this**_ nonsense, watching some older eps really got me wanting to write __lame__ fic again. Based upon #44 of __[The 1Sentence Claim__, I just kind of ran with it and wondered where it'd end up. The answer_: I have no idea.  
_  
To sum up: A drunken rant about Star Wars Prequels turns into some kind of weird pity-party for Davis or something. Also Paul is there in the background being nosey._

You'd think I_ was drunk when I wrote this, but that's not true; I was _half asleep_. I also apologize if some of the sentences here make no sense, I don't know how to write. I'll just shut up and let you read, I suppose._

--

In Dog River, Friday nights were a cause for celebration. A tiresome week of doing next to nothing would come to its anti-climactic end, and after a few celebratory drinks at the hotel bar, the people of Dog River would then settle down for a carefree weekend of also doing nothing.

One such Friday night, the bar was nearly empty, as the patrons had slowly filtered out over the course of the evening, leaving only Paul and two others. The two members of Dog River's Finest sat slumped over the bar, drinks in hand, while Paul made himself busy cleaning up, as Hurricane Hank had come to play pool earlier that night (there were pool balls strewn to the far corners of the room, and Paul had made a note to buy three more beer mugs over the weekend). Davis was ranting about how strongly he felt on the subject of discrimination against Jar Jar Binks (he liked Jar Jar Binks!), the influence of a few drinks evident in the way he spoke, with wild hand gestures for emphasis on his point. His partner pretended to be mildly interested as she always did, swirling her rum & coke in its tumbler, the _clink clink _ of the ice against the glass the only other sound in the empty hotel bar (besides Davis' heated debate with himself).

When there was a pause in his tireless argument, Karen cocked her head to the side, "I thought you didn't even like those new movies," she said. Were her judgement not so impaired at the time, she wouldn't have said it at all, for this launched Davis into a new rant about the lack of quality in Star Wars prequels (aside from Jar Jar, which he found to be its only redeeming quality).

"I remember the first time I saw the first one," he said, "I didn't mind it as much at first, but I can't watch it now," he said, voice trailing off suddenly as he stared intently at the edge of the bar. His sudden change of emotion puzzled his partner, and she leaned on the bar to better read his expression.

"Hmm? Why?" Karen asked, finally somewhat interested, as she took another gulp of her drink in preparation for what could potentially be another useless rant.

"That was when she left me," was all he said. Despite the gripping influence of several rum & coke drinks, Karen understood. She vaguely remembered that he had been married once, a few years before she had come to Dog River. Her clouded mind somehow grasping that she had hit a sore spot, she didn't say anything in response.

He continued, even though normally he wouldn't have, "Yeah, after the movie, we went to dinner, she told me she wanted out, ah, it's a long story…"

"Something about not spending enough time with her, right?"

"Yeah, did I tell you that already?"

"I dunno."

He thought it best to change the subject back, "Anyway, haven't seen it since then," he said, then took a swig of his beer, slamming it down on the bar audibly in a way that made Paul glare from across the room where he collecting money from the pinball machine.

"Huh, I was expecting some kind of old-fashioned attachment to the old ones or something. That's what people normally think about those movies," she shrugged.

"Yeah, that's another thing—"

She ignored him, "Sorry about that, though, your wife. It must've been tough, huh?"

"Yeah, I'm used to that kind of thing now, though," Davis said, shrugging and taking another sip of his beer.

"What do you mean by that?" Karen asked, a little louder than originally intended. She shifted slightly in her seat atop the barstool to face him, a single drop escaping from her glass to splash upon the bar. Annoyed, she rubbed it out.

Again he shrugged carelessly, "I dunno, people leave me a lot, I guess. First there was my mother, then _she_ did, and I went through about three partners before you came here."

"Yeah?" she rested her chin in her hand, smirking.

A smirk of his own to match hers, "You hold the world record so far, rookie. Comin' up on what, five years now?"

"Looks that way, but call me that again and maybe I will leave," she said jokingly, aiming a sloppy punch at his arm.

There was a pause where neither said anything, the only sound the tinkling of the change that Paul was fishing from the machines at the other end of the room. The awkward silence was broken with a single word.

"Thanks," Davis said, smiling.

"For what now?"

"For sticking with me," he said, turning to her, offering his signature Davis Smile.

She smiled back, a smile he hadn't seen from her in some time; it had been while since she seemed genuinely happy. The smile faded as quickly as it had surfaced, replaced by a somewhat contemplative expression as if she was thinking of something. Puzzled, Davis tried to think of something to say to change the subject, but the thought disappeared from his mind a moment later when she did something he wouldn't have ever expected, no matter how many drinks either of them had consumed.

"You're not that bad," she said softly, leaning toward him, she planted a somewhat sloppy kiss to his lips (more the corner of his mouth than anything, really). Realizing her mistake, she quickly pulled away again. Before Davis had even realized what happened, it was over, and she was seated firmly atop her barstool once more, looking away and trying to read the labels on the bottles behind the bar as a distraction; leaving the faint taste of cola on his lips and his heart pounding in his ears.

Again the awkward silence reared its head, this time without the background noise of Paul's coins from the machine, for he was staring at the pair, shocked. Briefly, he wondered how much The Howler would pay for the story of what had just transpired amongst the police force within his own bar. A few moments of thought graced him with the realization that it wouldn't be much, and the fact that the police station was just down the street and both the subjects of his gossip story had guns (two angry cops with guns? Not really a risk he wanted to take) weren't exactly convincing. After weighing his options, he decided it best to keep quiet.

The two left soon afterward, once they realized any chance of conversation was effectively edged out by the awkward silences that hung between them. Neither fully remembered it the following Monday when they met at the station doors, and aside from a few awkward moments where they _nearly_ remembered what happened, things between them were the same as it always had been.

But Paul smiled knowingly every time he saw the pair walk into the bar since that night.


	9. Or Was It 1986?

**Title:** Or Was it 1986?  
**Fandom:** Corner Gas  
**Genre:** General/Humour  
**Rating:** G  
**Warnings:** None  
**Pairings: **None

**Comments: **Just wanted to write some Thunderface stuff. Brent, Hank and Wanda are so awesome.

* * *

The year was 1985.

Or was it 1986?

None of them really remembered anymore; those teenaged years had since melded into one another, chronology lost in a cacophony of loud music and bad haircuts. Hank would sometimes refer to such times as 'the good old days'. Wanda refused to call them that because it made her feel old. Brent didn't feel the need to call them anything; he didn't see a point in mentioning them.

The year was sometime in the eighties; the location, Garage 76 (or, in layman's terms, Brent's parents' garage). Three colourfully-dressed teens were draped across the concrete garage floor side by side, staring up at the single bare light bulb that dangled from the ceiling above their heads.

"Come on, it's not that hard!" Wanda sat up suddenly, looking down at her two companions that lay on either side of her. She brushed off her puffy skirt as she spoke; the garage floor was rather dusty, caked in sawdust from Mr. Leroy's many unfinished projects that lined the walls of the garage. "It's not like we're naming… a kid… or a breakfast cereal or anything. It's a band, does it really matter that much?"

"What?" Hank tilted his head to look up at her, "Are you kidding? It's like… it's like we're naming a… a fire breathing dragon on a motorbike, man."

"What the he—"

"Wanda," Brent began, sighing as he too rose to a sitting position, "I think what Hank's trying to say is that band names require a certain amount of badassery… Much like a fire breathing dragon on a motorbike."

"Maybe a leather jacket, too…" Hank said to himself. He heard Wanda's frustrated sigh from his left and felt her again drop to the floor beside him.

"Attonbitus Visio," she said.

"No," Hank said flatly. He smirked, able to imagine the expression she had on her face at that moment, and braced himself for the inevitable smack she'd lay to his head. Sure enough, she hit him, but not exactly in the place he'd anticipated.

"Yeah, forget that noise," Brent chuckled from Wanda's opposite side, also earning himself a smack across his arm from his less-than-enthused friend.

"Let's hear your bright ideas, then," she huffed.

"Thunderface," Hank said simply.

"Whoa, there's no need for name calling, man," Brent scowled, leaning up to shoot a glare past Wanda at Hank.

"No, for the band," Hank said, smiling, "Yeah, come on, that's totally awesome."

"It does have a certain level of badassery," Brent mused, "I like it."

"It's probably the least ridiculous name you're ever gonna come up with," Wanda remarked

"Aw, thanks!"

"Where'd you get that name?" Brent asked, unable to believe that Hank had actually given birth to a good idea. There's a first time for everything, he kept telling himself, but a small part of him found it unnerving.

Hank sniffed, "Hehe, check it out," he pointed to the ceiling. His best friends' gazes followed to where he had gestured, to a stain on the ceiling tiles, "doesn't that stain kind of look like your old man getting struck in the face by lightning?"

"A little, I guess. It does have the glasses…"

"Well!" Wanda clapped her hands together emphatically and sprung to her feet, "that's enough of that!"

She grabbed her bass guitar as her companions rose to their feet more slowly.

"Let's make some noise, Wonderpants."

"It's _Thunderface._"


End file.
